You know, I wouldn’t say this to just anyone. I’m not one to gam and gossip around the old grog-cooler. But I know you’re a good New England boy working your hardest to crew this vessel just like me, so let’s talk straight.

Be honest: Have you noticed the harpooners getting a little more… ethnic these past few voyages?

Look, I’ve got nothing against Queequeg. He’s a nice guy. And he can spy a whale-spout in a hurricane. And swim like a dolphin. And hit a nickel-sized moving target in open water in one steel stroke. But all those “biggee” tattoos? Tell me they don’t scream “diversity hire.”

Yeah, last week, he did leap into the ocean to save me from drowning. What’s your point?

All I’m saying is that I could spear just as many whales until they spout black blood as Queequeg can. If they gave me the chance. But Quakers will do anything to look progressive. And you know they were just shitting themselves to find the one buff Polynesian guy who looks like George Washington.

(Plus, with that mopey twink of his as a spousal hire, he’s kind of a two-fer. Bildad and Peleg are getting a lot of bang for their buck.)

I am not “monomaniacally fixated on Queequeg”! Keep that Billy Budd shit to yourself. I’m just telling you that it’s getting hard out there for us blue-collar Nantucket lads when the all the ships’ owners are catching the Abolitionist Mind Virus. (Most of us don’t even get names! “Old Manx Sailor”? The disrespect.)

Fine, take the other harpooners. Tashtego. You know he’s just here because of his “vanishing tribe” Martha’s Vineyard street cred. Makes the hunt look more “authentic.” But if he’s been honing ancestral knowledge of whaling since reaching manhood, would you say he’s really earned it?

And you know that Daggoo is just coasting on his vertical. Anyway, remember that time that Spanish wag said the lightning flash was just “Daggoo showing his teeth,” and Daggoo clenched his fist? Thug behavior. I’d be so much more professional.

I’m not even going to bring up Fedallah leaving us all the grunt work while he posts up with Ahab in his private quarters. Must be nice.

It’s not about prejudice: it’s the principle of the thing! A whaleship should be a meritocracy. One that recognizes my superior merit.

And there will always be places for people like that in our organization. Like in the kitchen, helping Fleece. Or maybe fetching and carrying with Pip the Cabin Boy. (Don’t quote me on this. But I love that little “hip-hop” dance he does when he plays tambourine. Do you think Queequeg can play tambourine?)

I’m not saying that our harpooners are categorically unqualified. Mostly. All I mean is they seem to have gotten themselves a much quicker route up the corporate mainmast than the rest of us poor salts. And no one’s talking about it.

Riddle me this: if this is a colorblind vessel, then why is the only whale Ahab cares about killing the white one? Did you think about that?

This isn’t just about me! This is about all of us. The French Sailor. The Icelandic Sailor. And, you know, the other ones. Just because we can’t fetch a good market price in Alabama doesn’t mean we don’t have value! And yet we must watch our chances for advancement slide through our fingers like raw spermaceti.

Old Ahab apparently thinks ivory is good enough to stand on, but not enough to promote. What a racket. Sure, Queequeg just downed another five whales while I was talking and is single-handedly stripping the blubber as he balances in sock-feet on their floating corpses in shark-infested waters, but what of it? I could totally do that.

No, I’ve never thrown a harpoon before. But I know what I’m talking about.